by Harper West
Chapter 1
Caro
The late afternoon sun trickled in through the clouds, warming the small corner office I currently occupied.
My back was to the window, and my fingers flew across the keys of my keyboard as I typed out another proposal, hoping this might be the one that would change things for me.
For four years I had been with this firm, working my ass off, trying to make a name for myself. I was good at my job, I knew that much. I came in early and worked late, took every client I was offered, no questions asked. I had a high success rate, and people raved about my work when it was done.
And yet, I had been passed over for three promotions in the last two years, and I was tired of it. My career meant more to me than most people, and if I was ever going to get anywhere, then I needed to climb the ladder. I needed to be noticed.
A knock on the office door startled me out of my rhythm, and I glanced up to see Sam, my boss' executive assistant, standing outside the clear door, a rolled up magazine in her hand.
I beckoned her in, and cracked my knuckles, shaking my wrists out. I was sure my hands would be glad for a break from the frantic typing.
"What's up, Sam?" I asked her, leaning back in my chair.
"Let me ask you a hypothetical question," she said, twisting a lock of blonde hair around the finger of her free hand. "Say there was an athlete, big name, lots of deals. Well known in our circles. And let's say he got in a bit of hot water."
"What kind of hot water?" I asked her, arching an eyebrow. "And how hot?"
"Not boiling, per se, but pretty hot. Someone gave an interview that made him look real bad. Like, Drop the sponsorships so the kids don't find out their hero is a creep, bad."
I let out a low whistle. "That is pretty hot. What's the question?"
"How would you spin that?" she wanted to know. "Is he a lost cause, or can you save it?"
"Well..." I trailed off, taking some time to think. "Depends on the details. Who gave the interview, and how credible they are. If it seems like they're a good source, then all you can really do is try to repair the damage. It's a better use of time than trying to discredit whoever it is. He'd need to give some interviews of his own, make some appearances in the right places. Probably do some donations."
"Isn't that a bit obvious?" she asked me. "Like he's trying to cover his tracks?"
"Sure," I said, shrugging. "But that's the business. It doesn't matter if people can tell you're covering something up as long as what you do to cover it is bigger than what you're covering. No one expects these big names to be flawless, they just want to be able to feel good about sticking with them. That goes for sponsors and fans."
Sam nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. "Makes sense. And you think that would help?"
"It would be a start. The person in question would have to be on board, and they'd have to be willing to make some changes. No more doing stuff that leads to scandals, for one thing. People love a reformed sinner, so to speak."
"You're so good at this, Caro," Sam said with a smile. "Which is why I'm bringing this straight to you."
Before I could ask what 'this' was, Sam was tossing the magazine onto my desk.
I frowned as it unrolled, and the familiar face of Christine Williams smiled at me from the cover. It was the National Beat, a rag that was one step above a tabloid, and notorious for ruining the lives of celebrities when they reported things about them. However true or not they turned out to be.
They were widely read enough that people were influenced by the things they reported, and so it made sense that whatever the issue was, it started with the Beat.
But something cold like dread ran through me as I looked down at Christine's flawless face. She was a well-known actress, someone who had faded a bit from the spotlight over the years, but still held a fair amount of clout.
The issue wasn't with her. The issue was that I remembered who she used to be married to, and I was pretty sure I had a hunch who this scandal was about.
I opened the magazine anyway, flipping to the relevant section.
There was a picture first, of Christine standing in front of a window, gazing out of it with the light hitting her just right. Her face was supposed to convey some quiet strength or something, and I rolled my eyes at how manufactured it looked.
And below the picture was the headline: "Christine Williams-Porter Speaks Out About Her Heartbreak".
"Her heartbreak?" I said, making a face. "Sure. Okay."
"It's not a great article," Sam agreed. "But she's making some pretty bold claims against Kevin Porter. You know, the baseball star? Plays for the Empires?"
"Yeah, I know who he is. Aren't they divorced?"
She nodded. "Sure are. Which is what her sob story is all about. The tragic tale of how much she loved him and how he was an unfaithful, violent drunk."
My eyebrows hit my hairline at that. "That's a bold claim. They've been divorced for like a year."
"Somewhere in the middle she talks about how she's been searching for the strength to come forward and talk about this. To save anyone else from having to suffer like she has." Sam draped a hand dramatically over her forehead. "But it's just been so hard."
"I'll bet," I snorted. "If half of it is true, I'll eat this keyboard."
"True or not, it's all anyone's talking about right now," Sam said. "Trending on Twitter, and there's been at least six or seven articles dropped on different blogging sites about how people expected this of Porter. The floodgates are opening for this poor guy. They've got pictures of him partying in Cancun, Vegas, Cabo. Arms around random women, drinks in hand. It could all be innocent, but..."
She didn't need to finish that sentence. "But paired with this interview, it looks real bad," I summed up. "Hot water indeed."
"Yep. It doesn't help that the pictures they're pulling up for Christine are all from that movie everyone loves."
I rolled my eyes. Christine Williams was most famous for starring in Rootless, a sentimental film about a young woman who adopts a bunch of refugee kids to keep them off the streets and changes all of their lives for the better. It had been nominated for an Oscar, and probably would have won if a movie about the Civil War hadn’t swept that year.
I did a quick search of her name, and of course all the pictures were of her behind the scenes of the movie, chatting with multi-ethnic kids and looking beautiful and saintly.
Never mind that Christine Williams herself had never so much as publicly donated to any refugee funds, she was now associated with her character, which made her seem more sympathetic. That was just how those kinds of things worked.
Kevin Porter was made to look like a drunk with no impulse control, while she seemed like the wounded party.
I went over to Twitter, and of course, everyone was calling Kevin a piece of shit.
"'Great player, but clearly scum when it comes to treating women well'," I read out loud, quoting the tweets I was seeing. "'Wouldn't pay money to see him play these days '. 'Watch Rootless instead of the game this weekend!' Wow, they aren't messing around with dragging him for this."
The hashtag #JusticeforBriana was trending, and I rolled my eyes. Briana was the name of the character from the movie. It was all so predictable.
"Yeah," Sam agreed. "So you see why we need someone with some skill to handle this."
"We're getting the deal on this?" I asked.
She nodded. "Yeah. Gordon got the call from his agent this morning. I mentioned your name and how well you did handling what's name, the chef."
"Liam Samuel," I said, already lost in thought.
"Right, him. You cleaned that up in half the time they thought it would take, and it made us look really good. You deserve this opportunity more than any of the other dicks in this office."
I laughed. Most of the guys I worked with were dicks who thought they were masters of the spin or something. I kept to myself, kept my head down, and did my work. And opportunities fell into my lap, apparently. This could be such a b
ig break for me. Both of them were big names, and doing this right could mean big things for me.
But god. Did it have to be Kevin Porter?
He was basically a hero when it came to baseball. Joined the team three years ago, after being traded over from a smaller team down south. Now he was basically the biggest name in baseball. He'd led the New York Empires to the World Series twice since he'd joined, and they praised his name everywhere.
It was impossible to talk about the sport without his name coming up. He had something of a reputation for drinking and women, but since he was divorced, no one really cared. His ex-wife coming out with her tell-all was casting a very negative light on his past behavior, and I could imagine his agent was fit to be tied.
Kevin was the kind of star who had deals for shoes and clothes, and he also appeared on commercials for cereal and snacks and kids' toys. He'd been on more than one daytime kid’s show, talking about the importance of sharing or whatever. He was a big name, and those people would drop him like a hot box of garbage if they thought he was going to tarnish their reputation.
"You don't seem excited," Sam said, looking at me curiously. "You do see how big this is, right? If you could fix it so he doesn't lose any of his deals, or even get him more deals after this, you'd be a hero."
"I know," I said. And god, I did know. It was the break I'd been waiting for. A chance to make a name for myself. The person who dug Kevin Porter out of this mess would be talked about for years. And it could be me.
For the low, low price of having to deal with the man himself. Which was a big block.
I sighed and rubbed at my eyes. I'd been staring at my screen for too long, probably.
"I just...don't like him," I said finally, and that was the understatement of the year, but it summed it up well enough.
"Okay, that's fair, but you can't dislike him enough to let it get in the way of this deal, right? I mean, come on, Caro."
She was right. She was definitely right. Turning down something this big would be the thing that put me back. They'd talk about how I was too picky, and how I'd walked away from a serious job because I just didn't like the person.
I had to do it. As much as it pained me to admit it. It would be a good test of my skill, and I could be professional.
It had been years, almost six to be exact, since I'd seen Kevin Porter in person last. I was a different person than I'd been then, and he probably was, too.
It would be strictly business. After all, it was in both of our best interests for this to go well, right? I needed a boost to my career, and he needed for his to not crash and burn around him.
So it would be fine.
"You're right," I said. "You're right. Tell Gordon I'll do it."
Sam beamed. "I knew you'd come around. I'll go tell him right now."
I watched her leave my office, and then slumped over my desk with a sigh. For a few minutes I just stayed like that, wallowing a bit. And then I snapped out of it like I always did.
I opened a new tab on my notes file and started typing out everything I knew about Kevin's career and sponsors. It was going to be a long night, but if I was doing this, then I was doing it right.
Continue Reading 7 Nights of Sin
Available now in Ebook
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About Harper
Harper West is a Cali girl through and through, and she’s hella addicted to iced tea. She loves some theme park time, visiting the ocean and the mountains in the same day, and spending time with her kitties as she explores this writing journey.
When she’s not enjoying everything Cali has to offer, she can be found on social media or sitting in front of a fire on a rainy day, staring at the mountains. Sign up for her newsletter to stay up to date on all of her journeys and new books!
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